


The Ghost Of You

by xxenjoy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy
Summary: Jaskier considers his life, post-mountain.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	The Ghost Of You

It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, who he’s talking to; whether he’s performing or just walking along the road, if he lets his mind lose focus, those words are the first things he hears. In his head, they’re as clear as if Geralt is standing next to him, uttering them, shattering his heart all over again. 

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._

And to think Jaskier had poured his heart out to him. Had wanted to take him away. Had thought everything was fine. Sure, Geralt had been a little quieter than usual, a little gruffer, but he was like that sometimes. Jaskier didn’t expect him to be so angry with him. 

How long had Geralt been thinking these things about him? How long had he been a burden to a man he longed only to be with? Too long, apparently. 

As he hitches his lute case up on his shoulder, the sickly empty feeling seeps back in. He feels like he wants to vomit, but he hasn’t been able to eat anything all day, so he couldn’t anyway. His eyes sting and his heart aches and he sees Geralt in the clearings in the trees where they would have camped, the cool blue river where they would have bathed, the dirt path they spent so long travelling together. 

He’s too miserable even to write and he walks silently, just a bard and his lute and nothing more. He carries a dagger from Geralt, a gift so he could protect himself when they were separated. It’s a heavy weight against his thigh and more than once Jaskier has been tempted to hurl it into the river. It’s a reminder of all the times they had together, times he thought were good, but maybe not so much after all. But it’s also a reminder of his best friend, the man who was more to him than anyone else. He shouldn’t want to keep it, but he does. Every time he tries to rid himself of it, his heart clenches and he remembers the kind things Geralt used to say to him. So it stays, strapped to his thigh, just in case.

Not that it would even do much use as protection; Jaskier is in no state to fight and if he was come upon now, he’d never make it through an attack. Which, he thinks bleakly, might be for the best. It’s what Geralt wants, after all, to have him taken off his hands and then Jaskier wouldn’t have to suffer through this pain any longer. As it is, he doesn’t know how he’ll carry on. 

But he does - one moment at a time. 

Nights are the worst, when there’s no chance of running into someone on the road, when the light fades and the shadows creep closer. When Jaskier lies down alone and feels the ghost of Geralt’s chest against his back. When he remembers the warmth of him, the feeling of his breath against the back of his neck, the soft conversations they had in the dark. Conversations that meant nothing then but mean more than he can comprehend now.

And in the morning, when he’s feeling a little better, he thinks that he’s being ridiculous. Geralt is just one man. He still has friends in Oxenfurt and spread around the continent. Maybe going back to Cintra will be a little uncomfortable, but he is welcome there still and many places between. There are people who love him and will welcome him into their home and let him rest, but despite knowing that, he can’t shake the loneliness that inevitably creeps up on him again. He shouldn’t let the loss of one man ruin his life, but that’s how it feels. 

Geralt was his everything and even if none of his feelings were reciprocated, he was at home with him. Geralt was the home he never knew and now he feels lost, like a leaf on the wind; pulled from the safety of its tree and hurled out into the unknown. 

He was just so blindly happy that he never realized something was wrong. He never realized that underneath the jokes about not being friends Geralt genuinely didn’t want him around and his stomach turns at the thought. How could he have been so stupid? So blind? All he’d ever wanted to do was love him, to stick by him and prove to the world that Witchers aren’t so bad as they’re made out to be. At times, Geralt was even lovely. Not that any of that matters anymore. 

But it feels unfair. That all he wanted to do was love and protect and he’s the one who was punished for it. And it’s worse now that the numbness has worn off because he feels every ache, every stab of guilt for being too much. 

He wants to run to someone, but there’s no one to run _to_. Geralt is behind him now and he still has a life to live - a lot of it, if he’s lucky. But it all seems too much, to go on now without him. 

Jaskier makes camp early that night. He hasn’t eaten since he first got up and his body is worse off for it. He can barely keep his eyes open and he just wants peace, so he finds the first bit of shelter he can find and lays out his bedroll to sit down on. He should light a fire. He’ll be cold if he doesn’t, but he can’t muster up the energy to do it. 

This is his life now, he realizes, staring up at the trees in the dark. Just him alone on the road. He could go back to the city, he supposes, but what would he do there? At least this way he can play when he wants and has no obligation to when he’s not feeling up to it. Not, at least, anything other than the emptying of his coin purse. But he doesn’t eat much lately and he can always find berries along the road if he’s really desperate. Geralt taught him how to tell which are good to eat and which ones aren’t.

His heart aches at the memory and instantly, tears well in his eyes. It isn’t fair, he decides, that he has so much love for Geralt, even after everything, and can’t ever hope to get any in return. He shuts his eyes against the dark of the night and he feels very lost and small and very alone. 

He doesn’t make a definite decision to head to the coast, but that’s where he ends up. It’s a small coastal town, small enough that they can’t afford to pay him to perform, but offer room and board instead. And Jaskier hasn’t had a decent sleep in weeks so he graciously accepts. He asks after a bath and the innkeeper has one arranged for him. 

It’s supposed to provide a little comfort, but instead, it reminds him of Geralt like everything else.


End file.
